


I Love My Enemy

by mellocarmarsh



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 2P Hetalia, 3p hetalia, 90's AU, Angst, Bottom France (Hetalia), Domestic Fluff, Fairies, Fluff, FrUK, High School AU, Lemon, Lime, M/M, Parents AU, Pirate AU, Top England (Hetalia), a lot of fluffangst, brief rape, car crash, evil oc in the first oneshot, fluffangst, merman, ukfr - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:01:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 18,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24567388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellocarmarsh/pseuds/mellocarmarsh
Summary: "Enemies are supposed to dislike each other, right?"UKFr one-shots (angst, fluff, lime, etc.)I take requests, but it may take a while for me to write some of them since I already have a few ideas lined up. The first bunch have been on Wattpad for a while now, so I get requests from people there as well.
Relationships: England/France (Hetalia)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 56





	1. Merely Satisfying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluffangst. Warning for evil OC and brief rape

_Dear Arthur,_

_Is it normal to feel like there is nothing more to life than regret; like I have no control over my own future? Ever since you left, I've felt hopeless--lost. I knew I loved you for so long, but I never told you while I had the chance. Why is that? Maybe I was scared you wouldn't love me back. I'm not sure._

_After a while, I decided to stop drowning in my own sorrow. I went to bars every day to meet men. They made me feel wanted while our fun lasted, but every time they left, I felt sad again. This went on for a year or so, until the day I met Jean._

_I thought he was the best thing that ever happened to me. He is an artist and sometimes uses me as his model. It always made me feel so special. I fell because he reminded me of you: cold, distant, yet so passionate. But... one day he changed._

_He started saying he loves how feminine my curves are. Sometimes he kisses my feet and says they could be smaller. Jean is too sexual sometimes. He doesn't let me wear regular clothes at home, only lace and silk robes. He doesn't let me eat too much since he wants me to be ready for sex at all times. It's exhausting._

_Today he suggested I should get surgery to make myself look more feminine. I'm afraid he'll suggest something more drastic next. Like... a sex change. I said no and he got angry. He got aggressive in bed. Not in a pleasurable way._

_I'm so scared._

_This is a cry for help. You might not care about me and hate my guts, but I am hoping you are decent enough to realize how much danger I've put myself in._

_Please, get me out of here._

_Sincerely, Francis_

* * *

_Dear Francis,_

_I do not hate you. That is impossible. You are a great person who is compassionate and smart. You might've been reckless this time, but that is my fault for never saying that I love you. And I truly do._

_Leaving is my biggest regret. I left because I was lost. My life didn't have meaning._

_Now I realize that is false. Upon reading the words "I knew I loved you" in your handwriting, I knew what I had done wasn't right._

_I love you. I wish I could say it to you. Perhaps give you a kiss as well. I dream of holding you in my arms at night and staring into your beautiful eyes in the morning. You deserve to be cherished._

_It breaks my heart to hear that someone is trying to change the perfection that is you. It makes me angry to know that he has hurt you. And marked you. I wouldn't say I am a jealous man, but this Jean you speak of ignites an angry fire within me._

_I'm sending you a plane ticket. You can live with me. However, if you don't want to, I can get you your own apartment._

_I love you. I cannot write it enough._

_Love, Arthur_

* * *

Teardrops landed on the letter in his hands. For the first time, Francis realized he was wanted; he was loved. He stared at the plane tickets sticking out of the envelope and felt relief. He was saved.

His euphoria ended abruptly as he heard heavy footsteps approaching the room. Quickly, Francis tucked everything inside the envelope and hid it in his underwear drawer. He grabbed a magazine off his nightstand to pretend to look busy.

"Baby," Jean taunted, "It's time to play with Daddy." He walked up behind the blond to pull the pink robe off him. Francis slowly placed the magazine down.

"But I don't want to." Francis pulled a pout, which he knew Jean loved.

The bigger man shook his head with a grin on his face. "Daddy makes the rules," Jean said and chuckled, shoving a hand into his boyfriend's underwear. Francis muffled a moan, refusing to satisfy the man.

"Moan for me," Jean squeezed him harder but got the same reaction. Getting frustrated, the man roughly pulled the lace underwear down to Francis's thighs and bent him over. "When I tell you to moan, you moan!"

Francis yelled in agony as Jean forced himself inside him.

* * *

Sneaking out of bed was difficult when Jean held him so tightly, but Francis managed in the end. Soon enough, he sat in a plane, dressed in normal clothes. His underwear remained laced since he had nothing else, but he didn't care. It was the last thing on his mind.

In his hand, Francis held Arthur's letter. He read it for the umpteenth time as the plane landed. It all felt like a dream, but as he walked out of the airport to see the man he loved, he realized it couldn't have been more real.

They greeted each other with a kiss and a promise to stay together from then on.


	2. I'm Sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluffangst

The only sound in my room was that of clicking keys as I typed furiously. Last night, instead of working, I had to deal with two blonds who know absolutely nothing about hard work and personal space. They dragged me to the closest bar and left me with a hangover. I will kill Alfred and Francis the next time I see them.

Just on cue, I heard the door creak open. There wasn't enough time for me to prepare myself when a certain Frenchman waltzed across my room and into my lap.

"Hello, Artie!" He wrapped his arms around my neck and smiled.

"Get. Off. Me." I demanded, pushing his heavy arse off of my lap. Francis pouted and huffed, then sat on my desk. "I told you to get off."

" _No_ , you told me to get off your _lap_!" He played around with my pen, drawing a caterpillar on my notepad. "Look it's you!"

He even drew my eyebrows on it.

I scolded him, "Francis, stop touching my belongings!" Using all of my strength, I managed to shove him to the ground and he fell with a loud thud.

"Ow! You evil goblin--that hurt!" Francis complained and pouted like a child. Ah, yes. He had started calling me a goblin after watching a fantasy movie with Alfred. Fuckin' twats. "You should've asked nicely!"

A huff was all he got in return. My fingers worked faster than my brain, typing up the rest of the email. I read it various times to understand what I had written, too distracted with the grown man sitting on my floor. He typed away on his phone, pink tongue sticking out like an impatient frog.

"You waiting for a fly to come by?" I taunted. Francis looked up at me with questioning eyes as if saying "huh?" Pointing at his mouth, I said, "It'll dry out if you keep it like that."

Catching on, he huffed and hid his tongue. "It happens when I'm focused!"

"Because you're a frog."

"You're so mean!" he complained.

"For good reason."

Nothing else was said after that. Instead of arguing, Francis disappeared into my kitchen. _Thank God,_ I thought, _I was hungry._

The next morning, I got up to make tea when I found myself staring at a problem. Francis Bonnefoy. Again. Crossing my arms, I waited for him to explain himself; confess to stealing Allistor's spare key, (I do wonder how he did it) but he just smiled at me.

"I do not remember inviting you."

He pretended to think, placing a finger on his lips. "Hmm, maybe you forgot? Because I remember differently." Francis sat at the dining table, legs crossed, as he ate freshly baked croissants.

Unfortunately, my stomach didn't want me to stay angry at him for much longer. With a huff, I stomped into the kitchen; didn't even dare look back at the smug grin that surely appeared on his face.

I snatched a croissant as I passed him, too.

"Fuck him and his amazing cooking," I muttered to myself with a mouthful of pure heaven.

After breakfast, I went back to work on my computer. The Frog didn't seem to like that, though, and stood by the door with hands on his hips.

I scoffed. "What."

"Stop working so much," he began. "You already have bags under your eyes!"

"Then what the hell do you want me to do? I have to work if I want to get paid."

"You don't have to work every second of the day. Have fun once in a while!"

Sighing, I admitted he was right. "Fine."

A bright smile appeared on his face. "Good. Let's watch a movie together--I'll even let you choose!" It was the most excited I'd seen him all week and I wondered how long he'd been waiting for me to relax with him.

I decided I owed him one.

"Who's that guy?"

Rolling my eyes, I tried to focus on the movie. "He's Sirius Black. Harry's godfather." Thank God I made tea for the occasion, otherwise I think I would've lost it.

Francis watched intently, trying to understand what was going on, but obviously not doing well. "Ohh. And why do they hate him?"

"Weren't you listening for the first half?"

He frowned. "They talk too fast and too low!"

Right, I forget Francis has trouble with English. He likes to pretend he's smarter than he is and does a great job at it sometimes. It doesn't make it better that his accent had neutralized quite a bit after so many years. Well, it makes it better for _him_ and his _intent_ to sound intelligent.

"I'll put on subtitles, then."

He didn't talk again until the movie ended. "I didn't get it," Francis mumbled.

"Well have you watched the other movies?"

"I," he paused, "saw the first one in French three years ago... well, actually, I only saw the first half. I fell asleep."

I blinked a couple times, not understanding how someone could be so uncultured. "You're lucky I'm against animal abuse."

"Euh?"

"You know, cus you're a frog." I grinned as he glared at me. Intimidating doesn't look good on him; he's too pretty for that.

Wait--pretty? What the hell? I must've looked shocked because he laughed at me. His laughter made me feel warm. Is that normal? I wanted to hear it over and over again. That was when I felt my heart skip a beat.

"What the fuck?" I muttered.

"Hm?" Francis stopped laughing. "Are you confused about something?"

I shook my head. "I'm gonna get back to work. You should catch up on all the movies you missed meanwhile."

He huffed but didn't try to persuade me to stay longer.

After five long hours of work, I decided to give my eyes a rest. Wondering what Francis was up to, I stood and opened the door. I took my first step. Something bumped into me; it was Francis. He carried tea with him; steaming hot tea. It spilled onto my skin, clothes, and work papers. I yelled in agony. Francis apologized profusely, but I didn't care.

I saw red. My skin was boiling and Francis wouldn't stop stuttering words. I looked over. The work I had been working on for 5 hours straight was soaked in tea.

"WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST DO?"

He trembled. Of course, he knew what he had done. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to--I didn't see you!"

"GET OUT."

"No, l-let me help--!" Francis reached for my drenched clothes. I slapped his hand away.

"GET OUT OF MY LIFE. YOU'VE RUINED EVERYTHING!"

"I'm sorry!" he sobbed, unbuttoning my shirt. "I-I'm _trying_ to fix it!"

I shoved him away. "LEAVE. I DON'T WANT YOU HERE!"

"I'm sorry," he choked on his tears.

Since he wouldn't leave, I shoved past him to tend to my burns. I could still hear him sobbing over the running water.

My throat hurt from yelling, and so did my head. All I wanted to do was sleep; forget everything and live in peace.

After bandaging my arm and chest, I stumbled into my bedroom. Francis had quieted down. Either that or he went home. Nonetheless, I went to bed and took a nap, hoping I'd feel better in a few hours.

I didn't.

My head still hurt and my injuries had started to burn to their full extent. _Why didn't it feel like this from the beginning?_ I figured it was the anger.

Fuck. Francis. I sighed, realizing how much of a dick I was. _He'll get over it, right? That's what he always does, anyway._

Okay, I'm not just a dick. I'm a huge dick. A humongous dick with untreated anger issues.

I got out of bed to take some pills. On my way to the kitchen, I decided it was time to eat something, too. After taking care of my pain, I checked the fridge: mayonnaise, bread, every cheese you could think of, and milk. Alright, not in the mood for a cheese and mayonnaise sandwich with a side of milk right now. I shuddered at the thought of it.

My cupboards were full of sweets. Not in the mood for that either. The freezer was the last thing I checked, afraid of the outcome. I had fish, ravioli that Italian kid gave me that one time, pork, and ice. The only thing in there that wouldn't end in a house fire was ice. My anemic arse didn't mind it, but my empty stomach said otherwise.

I wished Francis would show up with croissants. Maybe a whole meal, too. We could eat it while watching all the Harry Potter movies in one night. I'd explain everything to him because he's a little hollow in the head, but I wouldn't mind because he's showing interest in something I really like. Then we'd insult each other as we always do, maybe laugh together, too--

A sigh left me. Francis always apologized for his mistakes; it was my turn now. But not _right now._ It was late and he was probably angry. I nibbled on some cheese and went to bed again.

* * *

"This is harder than I thought."

Standing in front of Francis's door, I hesitantly reached my hand out to knock, then pulled it back again. "What if he hates me? I can't have that, I need to eat! Well, that's not the _only_ reason..."

I sighed and finally knocked, expecting an angry Francis to yell at me, telling me to go fuck myself. That would've made sense. What I didn't expect was an angry Antonio.

"Hello, I would like to talk to Francis."

"How _dare_ you!" he exclaimed.

Blinking a couple of times, I responded, "Excuse me?"

"Do you know how much you made him cry? How sad you made him? And now you show up like nothing even happened? What the hell is _wrong_ with you!"

Shit, I didn't plan for this. "Listen. I came here to fix everything, okay? To make him happy again."

He shook his head, jaw tight. "He doesn't need you." Antonio cursed at me in Spanish, leaving me offended, yet thoroughly confused. "You broke his heart--he doesn't need you!"

"What does he need, then?"

"Me. A friend."

"Well, what are you gonna do for him?"

"Comfort him!"

"Okay, but, uh. I'm the solution to this problem. He needs me to apologize and clear things up to be happy again. Otherwise, he'll feel _empty_ cus he won't have all the _answers_. Understand?"

Antonio glared at me with full force. Ouch. "Do you think I'm dumb?"

"Hey, that never came out of my mouth, but... you're free to think so."

That made him angrier. He raised his fist and I was absolutely terrified for a second. Fortunately for me, a sweet voice interrupted him.

"Toni!" It was Francis. "We're out of ice cream! Again."

Antonio responded, then glared at me as if daring me to move once he left. I'm not a pussy, though, so I'm not scared of dares. I gave him some time before going after him; to make sure I don't risk getting beaten up for real.

"Francis?" I called out as I walked into his room.

His eyes widened once he saw me. I was scared he would yell or something. Instead, he turned around and covered his head with a blanket. "No! I don't wanna look at you!"

His angry friend didn't follow his advice though, staring through my skin and into my soul. I didn't think the giddy (and dumb) Spaniard could be so intimidating.

"Why not?" I tried to reason with Francis. "Are you mad at me?"

"I'm _furious_ and sad and guilty and _heart-broken_ and--and--AUGH!" He punched the mattress with a force I didn't know he had. "Why are you even here? You said you want me out of your life!"

I sighed and sat beside him. Francis still wouldn't look at me. "You know I didn't mean it, Francis. Please look at me. I'm trying to apologize to you."

He uncovered his head, looking at me; already tearing up. "What?"

"I'm sorry for exploding like that. Everything I said was untrue. You don't ruin things and you're very important."

Francis sniffled and frowned, fidgeting with the blanket. "What about the papers?" he mumbled. 

I smiled. "Everything is saved on my laptop. I just have to print them again."

"But I hurt you! Your skin is burnt because I'm dumb!"

"No, you're not dumb. You were just clumsy that one time, but you're _not_ dumb." I gently wiped his tears away, trying to make him understand.

He sniffled again. "C-Can I see your arm?"

Hesitantly, I lifted my sleeve to show him my bandaged arm. The area wasn't fully covered since I didn't have enough bandages, so my skin was very red. Francis gasped and covered his mouth, more tears coming to his eyes. I wiped those away, too, and assured him that I was okay.

"I-Is your chest like that, too?"

"Don't worry about that." I covered my arm. "It'll heal just fine. I've had worse, trust me."

That frown on his face seemed to be permanent and I didn't like that at all, so I grabbed his chin to make him look at me. "You were trying to be nice. It didn't go well, and that's not your fault. It's my fault for reacting like that." I pulled him in for a hug, which he quickly returned.

I think that was our first hug. It felt great to finally hold him in my arms. _Why didn't I do this sooner?_ The next thing I wanted to do was kiss him, but that would have to wait. I didn't want to mess with his feelings. He was already quite emotional.

Francis didn't agree with me, placing a short and sweet kiss on my lips. He didn't give me enough time to react, quickly hiding his face in my shoulder. All I could do was hold him tight.

"Ow."

He pulled back, gasping. "Did I hurt you!"

I chuckled. "No. I forgot about my arm and hugged you way too tight."

Huffing, he lightly slapped my shoulder. "Don't scare me like that."

After promising I wouldn't, I went in for another dose of his sugary lips.


	3. Valentine's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluffangst

On a day of freshly picked roses addressed to the one you hold dearest, heart-shaped chocolate boxes and fluffy teddy bears lay in every lady's hands. Modern symbols of love young and old couples embrace every year. Families and friends celebrate, too. Written notes expressing their appreciation for each other are often exchanged, giving the ones without lovers a bit of hope.

Those who dread this day are often lonely and deem themselves unworthy of love. Their hearts ache for a gentle lover to bring them all the kisses they've missed on the days they've spent apart. Yet no matter how much they wish and pray, that lover refuses to show up. "Maybe I am unworthy," they say. "I don't deserve the love of a person until death do us apart."

One pair of lips murmured those words too often. For him, this sweet holiday was nothing but a reminder of the things he wanted the most, such as a man to live a long life with; children to raise and care for together. Francis couldn't help but cry. He'd spent his immortal life seeking for the one thing he didn't deserve.

Warm tears covered his rosy cheeks. Wiping them with tissue didn't help much; new ones would take their place soon enough.

He drowned his sorrows with sugar, sticking spoonfuls of vanilla ice cream into his mouth. The next day, he'd regret eating so much, but right then, the only thing that he wanted to do was dwell in sadness. That was what Valentine's Day meant to him; it was the day the bottle inside of him overflowed with emotion, so much that its glass walls cracked amongst the pressure. It was fine though. Replacing the bottle was the easiest part.

However, that day was different than the others. A harsh knock interrupted his sobs, replacing them with a knot in his stomach. It took all of his might to show his face at the door.

"Arthur," Francis whispered. His throat was too sore for anything else. "What do you want?"

The response he got was expected; raised eyebrows and wandering eyes. They took notice of his tear-stained face--it was obvious from the way Arthur shifted uncomfortably. He'd never seen Francis cry before.

It took him a second to find the right words to say. "Why weren't you at the meeting this morning?"

Someone who is alone often feels lonelier once they're surrounded by crowds of people that want nothing to do with them. Just thinking about the happy couples at the meeting made Francis twitch; not to mention the amount of endless teasing he'd have to go through. He couldn't fake a smile for that long.

But did Arthur deserve to know the truth? "No," Francis concluded. Most likely, Arthur would've responded with guilt--or worse: pity.

"I feel sick."

"Ah, well--I figured as much," Arthur said. The amount of disbelief in his eyes contradicted his words, though the dull disinterest in them muddied any real emotion showing through. That was the thing about Arthur; he decided what emotions others were allowed to see. The mask he wore was that of a confident man interested in no one other than himself. Amusingly, it was their similarities that kept them apart.

Behind his back, he held a bouquet of roses. Francis hadn't noticed it; eyes too unfocused to care about the details of life that usually made it so beautiful. When Arthur offered it to him, the Briton mumbled something about "being nice once in a while". It made Francis think about the times they'd been nice to each other. Not quite a handful; but meaningful, nonetheless. Perhaps the roses were the key to a new friendship, in which kindness wasn't a surprise, but a given; where no masks were necessary and feelings weren't hidden away.

Letting Arthur enter his home was Francis's own way of being nice. He was giving the man access to his safe space in his vulnerable state, without enough time to think it over. Francis wondered whether he was desperate or slowly going insane.

Arthur scanned the room, his mask slipping off the more he saw. Tissues had been scattered over a thin blanket, both used and unused. Empty containers of artificial sweets crowded the table, along with a half-empty tub of ice cream and a spoon. "Oh, Francis," he whispered.

Upon detecting the repulsive pity in his voice, Francis regretted being nice to him--and decided he wasn't desperate enough to continue with their façade. They weren't friends and those words confirmed it.

"Why did you come? You could've emailed or texted if all you wanted was to pity me."

He said he wanted to check if Francis was alright, which Francis didn't understand. Was it Arthur being nice again? Even though their façade was in ruins?

"I'm not alright and you can't do anything about it," he said. But Arthur wasn't angry. Instead of shouting and asking himself "Why do I even try?", he invited Francis to sit on the couch with him. Nothing made sense anymore; his rival wouldn't give up on their silent agreement to be kind to each other, even after Francis made it clear that it wasn't working. Maybe Arthur wanted something else.

"Even though I don't like to show it," Arthur began, "I do care about you. Yes, it bothers me to see you happy, but that's because I'm not part of that happiness. It's selfish and it won't change. But I can't stand to see you sad, either. Especially when I know I could make you feel better if only I tried. So I _am_. I'm _trying_."

Francis laced his fingers with Arthur's, refusing to look at him, frowning at the wall--but despite that, the tint on his cheeks gave his true feelings away. "Then you suck at trying," he muttered. Arthur's mask was stronger, so Francis didn't know whether the dullness in his eyes was genuine or not. Violent butterflies tearing through his stomach appeared without warning, making him nauseous. They vanished once Arthur cleared his doubts, kissing his hand with the tenderness of a lover.

He blurted out, "Do you love me?", without a second thought. His stomach might've been okay, but his mind was still doubtful.

Arthur responded immediately: "Most certainly."

"You've sucked at loving me so far." He allowed Arthur to drape his arm over his shoulders and rested his head against Arthur's.

"I know."

Valentine's Day isn't about perfect couples and a happily ever after; the day of love is about nothing else but love. It's not perfect, and sometimes it takes a while, but the courage to love someone, despite the vulnerability love brings, is what should be celebrated.


	4. Captured Perfection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff

They kissed in bed; limbs tangled together to the point where neither knew which belonged to whom. The kiss didn't last long. Both men were tired from the party they'd attended that evening, where they filled their bellies with cake and alcohol until midnight. Now they lay in each other's arms, giving sleepy kisses despite the need to sleep.

"Francis," muttered Arthur as he undressed his tipsy lover. He hadn't drunk as much, afraid his low tolerance for alcohol would embarrass him in front of their friends. "You need to sleep, dear."

He earned a giggle in return. Francis didn't mind his boyfriend's hands as they tugged at his jeans--he found it sweet, actually. While Arthur preferred sleeping in cotton pajamas, Francis refused to sleep in anything but his underwear. They couldn't understand each other in that sense, but Arthur always took the advantage to caress Francis's soft skin at night. Similarly, Francis enjoyed using Arthur as a source of heat.

"I'm not sleepy," Francis mumbled before yawning. He pulled Arthur's head closer for another kiss, which the other reciprocated with a slow tongue. The drowsy man pulled away before Arthur could pick up the pace, sleep finally catching up to him. His boyfriend watched him in amusement, a gentle hand sliding up and down his back to soothe him. Francis couldn't keep his eyes open any longer and cuddled up to feel the warmth of Arthur's pajamas before falling asleep.

Finally, Arthur thought. A smile crept on his face as he stroked the sleeping man's hair. _So beautiful... so angelic_. Half-lidded eyes studied the way Francis breathed, his chest moving ever so slightly. His eyelashes sat on his cheeks so delicately; lips forming a pout as he dreamt of fairytales.

Reaching for his phone, Arthur couldn't help but want to capture the beauty of his lover in a picture. It would be another addition to the overflowing album. Francis didn't know about half of them--Arthur preferred the natural expressions he made over the artificial smiles everyone else saw. He loved being the only one to see Francis's genuine side, able to keep those perfect pictures all to himself. Of course, not all the artificial ones were bad. The lustful pictures were just as good as the rest.

He made sure the flash wasn't on and snapped a picture. It amazed him how something so simple made him feel so warm inside. Idly stroking Francis's hair, Arthur closed his eyes as he slowly fell asleep.

The shrieking sound of an alarm woke Francis. He groaned and turned on his side, waiting for Arthur to turn it off--however, no one did. Peeking out from under the covers, Francis realized that his lover wasn't in bed with him. Upon further observation, he saw light seeping out from under the bathroom door, along with the sound of running water. _That bastard_ , he thought and reached for Arthur's phone. Upon unlocking, the alarm turned off; however, the opened tab piqued Francis's interest. It was a photo album titled "Froggy" full of... Francis. There were pictures of him tending flowers, eating, laughing, and even sleeping.

"And I thought _my_ secret album was full," he whispered to himself with a big smile on his face.


	5. An Enticing Garment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff/Lime

"That fucking--!" Arthur cursed as he watched Francis waltz in. Even after 20 times telling him to dress appropriately, Francis refused to listen to his protective (and, frankly, jealous) boyfriend. Preferring to wear sexy clothing over the atrocious hoodies Arthur wanted him to wear, the Frenchman embraced his love of fashion wherever he went--no matter how scandalous. And according to Arthur, they were _too_ scandalous.

Today he wore a see-through button-up covered in tiny blue dots--its sleeves were short, just the way he liked it. Along with that, he wore black shorts that wouldn't touch the knee no matter how much one stretched them. The thing with Francis was that he wouldn't go overboard, but the way he dipped his toes into the water made it feel like he was. Especially to his classmates, who spent hours staring at his legs instead of the lecturing woman in front of them. Francis never got in trouble for their desperate behavior since, after all, he never broke any rules. Today he might've bent a few with the transparent shirt, but the teacher ignored it. She was too afraid of coming across as... intolerant to _minorities_.

Arthur, though, couldn't stand it. "Cover yourself," he said to him. "I can see your nipples!"

He never understood why Francis had to show off his body to the rest of the world when he was already handsome enough. Perhaps he was jealous, but he wouldn't admit that. _No one else should see his nipples_ , Arthur thought. _No one else!_

Despite the numerous ways he tried to explain it, his boyfriend wouldn't listen. Arthur felt bad for trying to control the way Francis dressed, deciding that if it weren't for the number of boys Francis had accidentally turned bi-curious, then he might've accepted his fashion sense.

"That's cus you're too close, otherwise you wouldn't see them," Francis tried to reason with him. It didn't work, of course, stubbornness being the trait they shared the most.

The Brit rolled his eyes and groaned. _Here we go again_. They spent the entire day arguing over it, gaining a few glares and shushes from teachers. Francis gave up half-way through--Arthur wouldn't stop lecturing him about proper attire and the danger of lingering eyes.

He couldn't take him seriously in those clothes, black and dull as always. His punk boyfriend looked hot in them, of course, but Francis decided they weren't good enough for his own body as it deserved to be treated like gold. Bodies like his aren't just skin over muscle and bones, they are a gift that should be properly shown off at all times. Arthur's clothes teased him with rips along the legs, but they weren't enough. He wanted more. Why not just cut the jeans into shorts? _Stop the teasing_ , Francis demanded, _it's better to show everything!_

That was what led him to buy the transparent shirt. He had to teach himself to embrace the wonders of his flawless body. _Of course_ , Arthur couldn't understand him. He didn't know the truth to self-love as well as Francis did.

 _If you want self-love_ , he thought, _you need to embrace that sexy body of yours cus, honey, you are a golden treasure!_

He couldn't say it out loud. Arthur would look at him weird. So the moment they got home, Francis decided he didn't need to speak to get his message across. Instead, he stripped at the door, staring right into Arthur's confused eyes as he walked around the living room in nothing but his underwear.

"What are you doing?" Arthur asked. He supposed it was alright since they lived alone now, but it was still strange. The most they'd done together was make out a few times, and stripping in front of someone wasn't anything he'd imagined happening before graduating high school. Reassuring himself, he figured if anything happened, at least they were both legal.

"Well," Francis began, "you said you don't want me to wear revealing clothes, so... I'm not." He smirked at him before walking into the kitchen, making sure to sway his hips more than usual to get him to understand: clothes weren't what made him desirable. Maybe Arthur was too dense to receive the proper message, practically drooling as he watched his boyfriend's behind. He wanted to touch it so bad. _So bad._ Thankfully, Francis continued: "I hope you understand that my clothes aren't the problem. No matter what I wear, my body will still attract people."

"Uh... I understand," Arthur mumbled, his eyes focused on the butt he followed into the kitchen. Francis noticed and laughed. He shook his hips at him, causing Arthur to drool even more.

"You're a pervert," joked Francis. His boyfriend's face turned red as he wiped his mouth. He claimed he wasn't with the last ounce of dignity he held within him. "You so are! But it's fine. I knew this would happen."

"You... you did?"

With a nod, Francis walked up to him. "Does it... make you want to do anything?" He pressed his chest against him, resting his head on the punk's shoulder. That earned him an eager nod as Arthur's eyes dropped down to his butt once again. Francis laughed and said, "You wanna squeeze it? Go on." A moan escaped him when Arthur's hands squeezed him harder than expected, which Arthur seemed to enjoy very much as he groaned into his ear. He bit his lip, attempting to control himself as Arthur fondled him for a while.

"Can I touch you without the underwear?"

Francis grinned. "I'm glad you understand now."


	6. Alone in The Shower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lemon

Tender hands stroked through his sweatpants, teasing the ache hidden underneath layers of clothing. Francis panted softly and slipped a hand in to grasp his hard-on, becoming impatient as his frustrations took over his thoughts, turning him into a desperate pile of mush. Uncontrollable fantasies clouded his mind. The image of his husband stood over him, a pale hand replacing the one stroking mercilessly.

As a father of three, Francis barely had time to rest--there was no way he and his husband could enjoy a romantic night together when there was simply no room for it. Every time Arthur got home from work, he'd only have the energy to eat before going to bed. Similarly, Francis never felt sexy after getting baby food on his clothes.

Tonight, though, the kids were staying at their uncle's house. Arthur would still come home tired, so Francis figured it wouldn't hurt to go to bed early. Except, he couldn't fall asleep; the built-up desire within him coming out all at once as his body ached for Arthur's attention.

Unable to control himself, Francis shivered and moaned from the touches of his imaginary husband. "Nngh... I need more," he begged Arthur, who complied and rubbed sensitive patches of skin on his chest. Mewling, the desirous man tore his clothes off, his brain allowing him a single coherent thought as he worried about making a mess.

He got out of bed and hurried into the bathroom. With unfocused eyes, he searched under the sink, hand aimlessly grabbing objects and setting them aside when they weren't what he wanted. Sighing in relief as the rubbery material finally brushed against his skin, Francis took the purple toy out of hiding.

Clumsy fingers fumbled with the suction cup, Francis's body too impatient to be careful with it. He was satisfied with the toy's position; water rained down on cool skin, causing a shiver to spread through his chest. The lengthy object fit between his thighs, pressing against his member as he began to thrust forward.

A moan escaped him. Arthur appeared once more, and the cold rubber turned into warm flesh as the man behind him thrusted against soft thighs. Please... give me more, begged Francis. Soapy hands rubbed him all over, occasionally stopping to toy with his nipples.

The stiff member behind him teased his entrance, pressing the tip half-way in. Francis knew it would hurt since he hadn't prepared himself prior, but he didn't care at all. He wanted to feel raw inside, especially after waiting so long.

"Ahngh..!" he moaned as the tip entered him. Arthur grabbed his hips and thrusted harshly without waiting for him to adjust. Francis moaned louder, placing his hands on the wall in front of him. "A-Arthur--ah!" Squelching sounds echoed throughout the bathroom as Francis thrusted back with full force, loving the tingly burn around his entrance.

Beating his prostate sent waves of pleasure throughout his body, each thrust punctuated with a breathy moan. He continued until his abdomen tightened. Semen shot into the wall as his legs shook under him--arms growing weak by the second.

After climaxing, Arthur disappeared and Francis was left feeling empty because, unlike his husband, the purple toy couldn't pump cum into him. The fantasy was over, making him realize that to be satisfied, he'd have to do the real thing with the real Arthur.

Luckily for him, the front door opened just in time.


	7. A Soothing Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff

A spoon clinked against an empty bowl as the sick man placed it aside. The microwavable soup only made his stomach hurt more, but it was one of the few things his husband could make without burning down the house. Francis figured it was better than starving.

"How are you feeling?" asked Arthur, gently caressing his face. Francis leaned into the touch, wanting nothing more than someone to cuddle with at that point, accepting that the ache in his bones wasn't going away anytime soon. It had only been a day after all.

"My tummy hurts now." With a pout and a huff, Francis rubbed his belly as if that would make it any better.

Arthur apologized, his hand shifting to stroke his hair. He didn't mean to make Francis feel worse, but it was expected from someone who once managed to start a fire with cereal. _I should've made a sandwich_ , he thought. Seeing his dear Froggy so weak and sad made his insides hurt. He wanted to do anything he could to see him smile again.

Francis reached his arms out as if asking for a hug. "Hold me, please?" The Brit smiled and slipped in bed with him, arms wrapping around his waist--carefully as he was afraid to hurt him further. Arthur kissed him slowly, deciding that the risk of spending a few days in bed couldn't keep him away from his lover. The gentle kiss distracted Francis from the pain in his stomach as he wrapped his arms around Arthur.

"I love you," Arthur whispered against his lips. His hands slid down to Francis's belly, rubbing gentle circles into the warm skin. Francis said it back immediately, voice whispery as he closed his eyes. His husband's touches allowed him to relax after a stressful morning full of tissues and fatigue. The soothing hands traveled up his abdomen until they reached his chest; then back down to rub his hip under the rough cloth of his boxers.

A shiver ran down Francis's spine. "You're not trying to excite me, are you?"

The Brit looked at him as if he were crazy. "Of course not. You're _sick_ \--why would I overwhelm you like that?"

"Well, it felt like it," Francis mumbled.   
Arthur shook his head, unable to believe how someone could do that with their sick lover. Kissing was one thing, but _sex_? Merely considering it was cruel, and Arthur was not cruel enough to hurt Francis for his own satisfaction. "Should I stop touching you, then?"

Francis hesitated, "No."

They stared at each other.

"Darling, I know you're a pervert by heart, but your body is too weak right now."

"It's _your_ fault for touching me like that!" Francis huffed. "And I'm not asking you to penetrate me or--"

A tender kiss interrupted his outburst, causing him to relax once more as he submitted to his husband's enchanting lips. "Never mind," he muttered once they parted for air, their mouths meeting again immediately after. Arthur continued to caress his lover's belly--and admittedly, his hands occasionally slipped a bit further, but not enough to drive the Frenchman crazy. In the end, Francis remained relaxed.


	8. An Insignificant Love Unforgotten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this poem two years ago. It's not perfect, but I still think it deserves a spot.

Dreams are known for being unpredictable,

And each dream confuses him much further.

His eyes flutter open, thoughts questionable,

As the man wonders why he dreamt of a bother;

An insignificant love to forget.

"When did I fall?" the Brit began to stir,

His thoughts jumped across his mind, clearly upset

As the last moments became a blur.

The one person in his mind, teasing him

With his beauty as it becomes much more.

The man sat up on his bed, the lights dim

As his eyes darted across the room, amour

Sparking in his heart as if it's on fire.

Body drowning in sexual desire.


	9. Beyond the Routine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lemon

Every day was the same. Endless hours of pointless sex with strange men; faking moans because their countless efforts to look erotic on camera distracted them from satisfying their partner. Sometimes they'd push the lube aside because "it's sexier" or skip preparation since "it takes too long".

Other times it was the director's fault. He might occasionally add an extra person into the mix, meaning one more penis, which hurt like hell after the first few minutes. It always left someone walking with a limp.

The only interesting thing about Francis's job (aside from the money) was the dreamy cameraman. He was so perfect that the only way Francis was able to finish sometimes was to imagine Arthur in his costar's place. Several months went by before they first spoke to each other, but once introductions were out of the way, they were inseparable.

"Arthur," moaned Francis as a finger entered him. He lay beneath the other, legs spread apart and arms over his head; feeling the most pleasure he had felt in a long time. Arthur added another, thrusting slowly and steadily picking up the pace. His fingers expertly brushed against Francis's prostate, leaving him gasping for air.

"Yes, my love?"

"D-Do that again!"

A smirk appeared on Arthur's face before he rubbed the same spot again, causing Francis to moan eagerly and thrust his hips to meet the three fingers buried inside him. Arthur chuckled. He ran his left hand over Francis's thigh, feeling him up; then traveling back up to tease the sensitive patches on his chest.

Francis mewled, loving the amount of attention his new lover gave him. It had been a long time since a man last caressed his body out of love and appreciation. He grabbed Arthur's face and pulled him in for a passionate kiss. Focusing on moving his tongue was difficult as the pleasure he received from the other man's hands clouded his mind.

No empty words were said. No name calling. No embarrassing outfits or unreasonable directors. There were just two people and the passion between them in that room, allowing them to properly enjoy love making without the artificial pleasure their careers conveyed to the world.

Genuine pleasure felt warm. Francis's skin tingled under Arthur's touch, yearning for more.

"Artie," Francis whined, "Hurry!"

Deciding he was also getting impatient, Arthur pulled his underwear down and aligned his member with the delicate hole in front of him. He entered slowly, watching Francis to make sure he was doing alright so far; gaining speed only after Francis begged him to.

"Yes, yes," the Frenchman whispered. Everything from the way Arthur held his hips to the throbbing organ stretching his walls made him melt into a moaning puddle of pure ecstasy. Francis loved Arthur's slow thrusts; his bundle of nerves twitched every time it was stroked so gently. It drove him crazy, but he didn't want it to end.

He gasped once Arthur leaned over him to kiss his neck; hands already touching him all over. That, alongside the teasing thrusts, caused Francis to reach his climax too early. The pink tint on his face turned red as Arthur chuckled at him. It usually took him a long time to finish, but that was with negligent costars. Arthur was the first person to focus on Francis's satisfaction over their own.

The Brit continued, nonetheless. Due to oversensitivity, Francis came again not too long after, but Arthur climaxed a few minutes later.

Panting softly, Francis looked up at him with a dopey smile. "That was..." He paused to think of the right word. " _amazing_."

Arthur smiled and kissed his forehead. "Thank you, sweetheart. You weren't so bad, yourself."

They giggled together.

"We should take a shower."

"Definitely, but not right now. I want to cuddle first."

"That does sound great," Arthur mumbled as he lay beside the other.

Francis cuddled up to him, sighing softly. _I'll quit tomorrow_ , he thought as he closed his eyes.


	10. And the Award Goes To

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lemon

"Ana... ch-chro--"

"No. Not 'ch'. It's pronounced as a 'k', love."

A huff was all he got in reply. Arthur tore his eyes away from his project to glance at Francis, who lay on his bed, reading vocabulary words off a binder. Their new English teacher was peculiar, preferring spelling-bee-like testing over having students spell words on paper; as if she enjoyed publicly humiliating innocent victims. For that reason, the Frenchman stressed over his pronunciation and studied all night, afraid of getting laughed at after mistaking a "k" disguised as a "ch" for a real one.

"Then what is it?" he mumbled, pushing the words aside. Having a stuck-up British genius as a boyfriend was a real blessing; however, Francis wished Arthur would be more patient with him.

As usual, Arthur said the word way too fast for him to understand and turned his back to him again. Francis complained that he needed more help than that, claiming that Arthur didn't care whether or not he passed his test. He said no one ever understood him and his struggles with English because everyone in England pretended to be experts in the English language despite using nothing but slang.

"You're all fake! All of you!" Francis hid his face in a pillow, frustrated and ashamed.

Arthur shook his head, used to his boyfriend's melodramatic monologues about the world working against him. He closed his notebook and sat next to the other boy. "Francis," he began, "You're too hard on yourself. So what if you can't pronounce fancy words like 'anachronistic' or 'demagogue'! That doesn't mean you're dumb." His lips brushed against the back of Francis's neck, causing him to yelp and sit up properly.

"It _doesn't_ matter! But it matters to Hannigan and I _can't_ fail English, Arthur!"

"I know, sweetheart--which is why I'm going to help you."

Francis whined, "But you don't help properly!" He crossed his arms and looked away, but that didn't stop Arthur from trying to reason with him, saying that he wanted to try a new strategy. The Frenchman looked at him with curiosity in his eyes. Arthur smiled, sneaking his fingers behind his boyfriend's neck to make him shiver again.

"You pronounce a word right and I'll give you a _favor_ in return."

"What kind of favor?"

Arthur smirked. "You've prepared yourself, right? Haven't eaten anything yet?"

The implication of those questions made Francis blush just a little, but he grinned and played along. "Why? Want a taste?"

"Only if you manage to say these words correctly." Arthur handed him the binder so Francis could read the words off the cover.

Lying down on his back, Francis sighed as he stared at the long list in front of him. "Ahna-kro--"

"No."

"Ahn- _ah_ -kro-nistic. Anachronistic?" He knew that was the right answer once he felt Arthur's hands unzipping his jeans. Francis could feel the hot breath on his member as the other pulled it out of his underwear, causing him to shiver for the third time that afternoon.

"Continue," Arthur whispered, rubbing the tip of the organ.

Francis whimpered and tried to focus on the next word. "Ser-cu-i-tus. Circuitous--nngh!" He threaded his fingers into Arthur's hair, moaning his name; the Brit dragged his tongue across the tip, pulling Francis's underwear off with one hand as he fondled him with the other. Arthur groaned when his boyfriend's grip tightened.

"D-Dem-a-gog. Demagogue!" Francis exclaimed. He felt ridiculous, moaning out vocabulary words to his boyfriend, but Arthur's new strategy was working perfectly--so he couldn't complain. "Hack-nei--" Arthur stopped touching him as a form of punishment. Francis whined, "Hack-n-eye-d?"

The Brit shook his head.

Francis whimpered, his body aching for attention. "Hack-knee-d! Hackneyed!" Shivering once Arthur's tongue moved against his scrotum, he sneaked a hand over to stroke himself, but Arthur slapped it away and grasped his member. The Frenchman moaned, "Que-ru-lus?" The tongue stopped moving and Francis groaned. "Que-ruh-lus! Kweh-ruh-luhs--querulous!" He felt Arthur smile against his skin as he began to pump him, his tongue traveling lower.

"Please, Arthur... I can't focus anymore!"

"One more."

Another whimper escaped him. "Zee-lot? Zee-lit? Arthur, please!"

Arthur aligned his mouth with Francis's hole and gave it a tempting lick. "You're half-way there, sweetheart."

"Zeh-lit! Zealot--Ah~!" He pushed the binder away, letting it fall to the floor; too focused on the tongue inside him to continue. "Arthur... mngh!" His legs ached from the difficult position they were in, trapped against his chest as Arthur held his thighs together. Francis was completely powerless--the most he could do in that pose was pull at the dirty blond hair beneath him.

The Brit repositioned him so he was on his hands and knees, then continued to please his lover. Francis ground back against him, earning a firm squeeze. He moaned and closed his eyes, hoping it would never end.


	11. The Kisses We've Shared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff

We were only twelve when our lips first touched. It was a late afternoon; our mothers had told us to avoid each other since they figured "that witch's son must be just as bad as her". Yet, despite our mothers' warnings, something drew us together. Arthur didn't believe it and claimed the only reason I was his friend was that spending time with a dumb frog was better than being alone—but I knew better.

Sitting against a tree, we watched the birds fly against the red-violet sky; pinky fingers reaching for each other as our faces heated up. I glanced at him, then leaned in. He didn't seem to understand what was going on, so I grabbed his shoulders and pulled him closer; my lips rested on top of his for a mere second before he sat back to look into my eyes.

"Did you like it?" I asked, twiddling my thumbs. He didn't respond, touching his lips as if he could still feel mine against them. When he realized I was waiting for him, Arthur grabbed my hand tightly and kissed me. I closed my eyes, allowed myself to become addicted to him as passion seeped out of our mouths and intoxicated us like an alcoholic drink.

Arthur pulled away. He said, "I like you," his eyes downcast as he blushed. "I like you a lot."

"I like you, too."

Years went by and we slowly grew apart. It wasn't our fault. His mother found out about us when Arthur snuck out at night to meet me; she followed him even though he swore she was afraid of the woods. We kissed like our lives depended on it and she saw us. After that, we were banned from seeing each other ever again.

Fate worked in our favor, though. When I was eighteen, I worked by the sea in a small bakery; I stood behind the counter all day, resting my hand against my face as I dreamed of a better life. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a pirate dressed in a bright red coat. He looked familiar, and I quickly realized why as the green eyes I'd missed so dearly stared into mine once again.

I whispered his name and he whispered mine. We hugged, kissed, and even cried; afraid we'd lose each other again if we closed our eyes.

He carried me to his ship and lay me on his bed, eyes admiring me as if I were a piece of gold. I smiled, taking his face in my hands and kissing him passionately. His tongue slid across my lips before I allowed him entrance, moaning softly as our tongues danced in our mouths. I felt him pull my clothes off, piece by piece. Arthur was unusually patient, but I figured he was afraid I'd leave again if he wasn't careful enough.

Thankfully, our mothers wouldn't get in the way anymore.

"Hello, love," Arthur greeted me at the door, dressed in his favorite suit--he looked so handsome and gentlemanly. I responded with an eager kiss, placing my hands on his chest. He reciprocated with an arm around my waist.

We were interrupted by a war cry as Alfred attacked Arthur with his toy sword. "Stand back, foul beast!" He pretended to stab him several times, smiling in victory once Arthur groaned in defeat. "Nothing can beat the powerful Alfred F. Jones!"

Matthew huffed from the stairway. "Then it won't hurt you to take a bath. You smell like rotten feet, Alfred."

"No, I don't! Feet can't rot, anyway!"

"Yes, they can."

"No, they can't!"

I sighed and gave Arthur a brief kiss, then I took off his jacket to hang by the door. "How was work?" He scrunched up his nose, thinking of a response, but nothing came to him. "Same as always, then," I concluded.

Arthur smiled. "You know me so well. Is that beef I smell?" Our lips met again before I could respond, moving against each other lovingly. I forgot what I was about to say, focused entirely on the man of my dreams as he kissed me like no other.

"Papa," whined Alfred. "Stop eating Dad's face and finish cooking. I'm starving!"

"Stop being so rude," said Matthew.

"I'm not!"

"Yes, you are!"

Arthur sighed and I smiled, pulling him into the kitchen. We continued from where we left off, love enveloping us as I silently thanked fate for keeping us together and gifting us wonderful children to raise in our wonderful lives.


	12. Treat You Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff. Written on Feb 10, 2019. All I did was edit grammar mistakes

Being a TA was annoying, but Arthur figured it was better than having actual classes. Two were enough for him. Besides, it looked good on his resume—or it was supposed to.

With a sigh, he looked up from the tests he was grading, watching as students piled up at the door. Arthur was usually in the library during 5th period, but class was exceptionally busier in May, so teachers sought extra help. He watched them with a lazy glare, silently criticizing their lack of patience. The bell rang and they struggled to walk past each other, pushing and tripping over bodies.

A seemingly annoyed blond stayed behind, but he wasn't just any blond. He was a certain bother; an inconvenience Arthur wished would disappear just for a moment, at least. His feelings for Francis were complicated, though that didn't stop him from sending a glare.

Francis didn't react, though. He slowly approached their English teacher, Mrs. Hadel, with a notebook clutched between pretty fingers. Arthur dismissed that last thought.

"Mrs. Hadel," Francis spoke up, voice uncharacteristically quiet, "I still need to take the test from..." She wasn't listening to him. Francis tried again, voice shaken, "M-Mrs. Hadel...? I need your help—"

"I already gave you a grade for it," she interrupted him sweetly.

"What? But I never took it."

"Exactly. An F is what you get for not showing up to class," Mrs. Hadel smiled.

"I was busy," Francis looked like he was about to cry. Mrs. Hadel was being a bitch for no reason, but crying over it was an exaggeration, Arthur thought.

"Busy?"

"Please, you have to let me take it."

"And cheat on it? Baby, you don't have to pretend. I'll let your parents know, we'll put you in a special needs class, yes?" Mrs. Hadel snorted and covered her mouth, "Oh, I apologize. Now, what were you busy with?"

Arthur's eyes widened. _What the fuck is happening?_ He thought. Mrs. Hadel was sweet and bubbly, not rude. She wasn't ableist. She couldn't be. And—Arthur took a moment to glance over at Francis—why would she target him?

"I... I can't tell you." Francis stared at the ground, cringing at her words. _Poor boy_ , Arthur thought. Did no one know about this?

"Your grade stays in, then."

"I had a... a mental breakdown," the blond whispered, looking like he was painfully aware of the other teen in the room. That was unexpected. The pretty boy with the radiant smile had mental health issues. " _Pretty boy_?" Arthur scoffed at himself.

"Those don't exist. You're just a pussy."

Francis let a tear spill, fingers fidgeting with the spiral of his notebook, "I have bipolar disorder. I can't help it..."

"Bipolar?" She snorts, "Sounds like the side effect to _faggotry_."

Oh. She had crossed the line. Arthur gathered his belongings, holding the corrected tests in his hand. He casually approached the teacher's desk, as if he hadn't heard anything, and slapped the papers in front of her.

"All done," he nodded, nonchalantly glancing over at the other boy, who looked ashamed as he frustratedly wiped his tears away. Arthur wanted to tell him it was okay. But he wouldn't. Instead he sent him an uninterested glance. "Shouldn't you get going? You won't make it before the bell rings."

Francis sniffled through a faltering smile, "I'll need a pass." He watched Mrs. Hadel as she typed on her computer, acting as if she hadn't heard him.

"Don't bother," Arthur said with a dry chuckle. He placed a tender hand on Francis's back, gently leading him out the room. He turned back to send the woman a fake smile, receiving a perfect replica.

The Brit stopped when they were more than a yard away from the door. "Do you have a Post-It note?" Francis stared at him for a moment before nodding and grabbing his pencil pouch from his backpack. He handed Arthur a sticky note and a pen, watching as the boy wrote him a pass. Arthur placed it into his hand (silently noting how soft it was) and gave his best attempt at a genuine smile.

"I saw what happened, Frog. Come over to my place, we'll talk about it." His tone was stern, but his words and behavior weren't.

"What?"

"Actually, I'll drive you after school. I'll help you with your homework." Arthur smiled a while longer before awkwardly patting Francis's shoulder, "You don't have to like someone to help them out."

The Frenchman watched him for a moment before smiling, "Thank you." His smile faltered, "But, what can I do about it?"

"We'll figure it out together. Now, go to class. I'll see you at four."

* * *

"What about my toothbrush? And my pajamas? I need to sleep in my pajamas! It's part of my daily routine. I can't break out of my routine!" Despite everything, Francis was back to his annoying self, complaining and whining about everything.

"Shut up," Arthur groaned, hand struggling to loosen his tie as he organized his room, "I'll buy you a new toothbrush then."

"A purple one."

The Brit rolled his eyes, regretting for a moment having invited his irritating guest. . He sat down on his bed, beside Francis. He didn't know how to bring what had happened that morning up in conversation, and in a way that wouldn't scare the boy off. Arthur wanted to help him, not intimidate him.

"I heard everything. I didn't know she treated you like that," Arthur spoke softly, awkwardly placing his hand on Francis's hand in an attempt to comfort him. It was so soft. "Why didn't you stand up for yourself?"

An uncharacteristic blush spread across Francis's cheeks, the sight enough to make a man melt. That man being Arthur. Arthur was struggling with his inner strength as he fought back those feelings of infatuation. He'd always kept a cold front, but it was harder to do so when Francis sat so close to him.

"I couldn't," Francis frowned, "She said she'd report me to the office for showing disrespect."

"Don't worry, I'll fix everything. I'll report her to the office, to the police—"

Francis paled, "The police? No, it's not that big of a deal."

Arthur's gaze softened, "She's abusing you, love." He didn't know why, but it felt right to say. "It's best for the police to get involved; who knows what the school will or won't do?"

"Love?"

"Oh, uh, um, would you like to eat something? It's been quite some time since you've had something to eat, hasn't it?" Arthur quickly stood up, not bothering to change out of his school uniform, as he continued to change the subject. "I'll go ask Alastair if he could, um, cook something nice for you. For us."

Francis looked confused, but his cheeks were still pink, "Alright."

"Stay here," Arthur told him before leaving the room, feeling like a fool afterwards. _Of course he'll stay there, where the fuck can he go_? He didn't understand why the other teen made him act so foolishly. Arthur shook his head at himself.

"Alastair!" He yelled from the stairs as he marched down, "Get off your arse and cook something for us!" Once he stood at the bottom of the stairs, Arthur spotted his brother sprawled over the couch, groaning dramatically.

"Fuck off, cunt."

"No, I'm not planning on starving myself and my guest," Arthur rolled his eyes at his irresponsible guardian.

The older man sat up at the mention of Francis, raising a suggestive brow, "Guest, eh?" Arthur would've ignored him if it weren't for that irritating smirk.

"Fuck off, I'm just helping him!" Arthur glared, not liking what his brother was implying. "Now cook something before we die!"

"And you say _I'm_ dramatic," Alastair rolled his eyes as he dragged himself off the couch and into the kitchen.

"Who do you think I get it from?" Arthur muttered under his breath before heading back upstairs.

* * *

"So, uh," Francis mumbled once he had positioned himself comfortably in the tub, "How does this help my... situation?" He poked at the suds on the water as Arthur turned around and sat beside the tub.

"It'll help you relax, trust me."

Arthur didn't know what had gotten into him. Yeah, baths were relaxing, but he knew what the real reason was. Deep down he knew he just craved to see the Frenchman's bare skin. It took several trips to the bathroom and banging his head against the wall, but eventually, he'd realized what it was.

He gulped as he watched Francis nonchalantly popping bubbles, struggling to keep himself from shoving his tongue between those pink, pouty lips. Arthur shook those thoughts out of his head, reaching for the shampoo. He'd only washed his little brother's choppy hair, which resembled his, so Arthur wasn't sure how long hair should be treated. He decided to wing it.

Francis closed his eyes and allowed himself to relax, leaving Arthur to figure out how to bathe him for himself. The Brit had a hard time controlling his urges.

* * *

"Lie down with me," Arthur commanded awkwardly. He sat on his bed, a hand reaching out to Francis for him to grab.

Francis stared at him for a second before hesitantly grabbing his hand and letting himself get dragged on to the bed. Arthur grabbed his hips to make Francis sit on his lap, making the Frenchman gasp from surprise.

They sat in awkward silence for a few seconds until Francis relaxed against Arthur's chest, "I don't get it." He rested his head on the Brit's shoulder, Arthur's arm wrapped around his waist.

"What don't you get?"

"Why are you being so nice?"

Arthur didn't know how to answer that question. He had been asking himself the same thing all day. Why was he being so gentle, so kind, to a boy he'd absolutely despised yesterday? "I don't like seeing you sad, so I'm trying to change that."

"That's not something Arthur would do!" Francis furrowed his thin eyebrows, his lips sitting in a small pout, "Who are you, imposter?"

The other boy chuckled at Francis's childish behavior, "Sweetheart, I can assure you that it's really me."

"See! Arthur doesn't call me sweetheart! And he definitely doesn't like it when I try to sit on his lap!"

Arthur sighed, "Listen, I'm done pretending you don't mean anything to me." He wasn't sure what that meant, but he allowed himself to caress Francis's cheek.

"I see," the Frenchman whispered, big blue eyes fixated on Arthur's green ones. He looked like he wanted to say something but was hesitating. Arthur waited patiently, which was already so unusual for him.

"I love you, Arthur," Francis finally said, his eyes full of hope as they searched for a reply within Arthur's eyes. His search was cut short, as chapped lips met his, and Arthur's arms tightened around him to hold him closer.

* * *

"Yuck," Matthew muttered, kicking his legs as he sat on his bed, eyes downcast as he tried not to think of his parents kissing. Francis chuckled at him, shaking his head. Arthur smiled.

"Well, no matter what you may think of it, the point of the story is," Arthur continued, placing his hand on Matthew's shoulder, "You're not alone, and this will end. Papa's teacher was fired for bullying him, and he never had to deal with her again."

Their son looked at them with hope in his eyes, "You'll get Mrs. Johnson fired for me?"

Francis nodded. "It's what she deserves."


	13. My Beloved Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluffangst, mostly fluff

His head was spinning. The white walls surrounding his sight seemed to close around him, making Arthur run faster, despite the number of times he'd been told not to. His eyes darted to each door, looking for the right number. 143... 144... 145.

Arthur's eyes finally landed on the right door: 146. He stopped at the doorway, staring at Francis; he'd never appreciated him enough.

"Francis," he whispered, tears blurring his vision. The other man didn't hear him, his attention stolen by the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. He watched intently—though his eyelids threatened to close. Sunlight shone against Francis's pale locks and skin, giving the illusion of an angelic glow. He had been placed in the hospital bed, laying limp; a bandage wrapped around his head ruined the angelic illusion. So did the bulky cast hiding the delicate skin of his arm. Arthur couldn't believe how beautiful Francis looked even after an accident.

Chilling wind blew across the sunlit room; Francis shivered. "Can you get me another blanket?" he croaked. Another shiver erupted a chain of muffled sneezes, turning his nose bright red. Arthur grabbed a couple blankets from the corner of the room and placed them on top of the injured man, gently tucking him in. Francis mumbled a simple "thank you" before bringing his attention back to the noisy cartoon.

A sigh escaped Arthur. "You're avoiding me," he said.

Reluctantly, Francis tore his eyes from the screen. "I'm not," he muttered. "I just want to watch TV." Though, his face softened upon the sight of his acquaintance's tears; hand reaching to touch Arthur's. "You cried," he stated numbly.

"Yes." Arthur gulped. "You could've died."

"But I didn't."

"Francis." Arthur sat beside him and grabbed his face, staring deeply into his drowsy eyes. "I cannot imagine a world without you. The mere thought makes me cry because you are my angel; despite shining your light in my face for fun; despite being there for me when the only thing I wanted was to dwell in darkness. Because I need you even when I think I don't want you."

He wiped a tear away as it traveled down Francis's cheek and pressed their lips together in a gentle kiss. "I love you, Francis," Arthur whispered to him, "And from now on, I'll take care of you. I'll make sure you never get hurt again."

Francis watched him through silent tears, smiling sincerely as he reached his healthy hand out to caress the man pouring his heart out in front of him. He said, "All it took for you to say that was... a near-death experience? You're quite peculiar, Arthur." Having received a scoff, Francis chuckled, recoiling back into the pillow and clutching his abdomen—but in a blink of an eye he was all better. "I'm glad you love me as much as I love you." Francis invited Arthur to lie in bed with him. He hesitated, but a glance into Francis's iridescent irises compelled him to do so.

A happy sigh left him as Francis rested his head on Arthur's chest. They watched TV together—Francis smiling after every childish joke and Arthur raising his eyebrow at them.

"Do you watch cartoons often?"

"Non," Francis replied, "I never have time to watch anything."

Arthur chuckled and wrapped a loose arm around him, but his smile quickly turned into a frown as his eyes scanned Francis's injuries. Upon closer observation, he spotted bruises on his arms; bruises where delicate freckles lay, covering up the natural beauty of sunkissed skin. "Promise me you won't drive again," Arthur said, "Whoever gave you a license must've been mad."

"I stole it from a teenage girl. She was blond with blue eyes—no one could tell the difference."

"How do you stay so witty after nearly losing your head?"

"It's in my—"

The door opened, revealing an olive-skinned man. "Francis," he exclaimed, "I brought you macaroons so you won't have to eat dirty hospital food!" He walked up to the bed and took a seat beside them. "Did I interrupt something?"

Francis smiled. "Kind of, but it's fine, Papa." Sitting up with some difficulty, Francis scanned the box in his father's hands, then grabbed a few and placed them in his lap. "Papa likes to steal my favorite ones," he explained after Arthur gave him a look.

"Hey, I can't steal these. They're a gift, and that's against the rules of gifts," Romulus defended himself. A cheeky smirk quickly appeared on his face, though. "Are you two together now?"

"Papa," Francis complained. "It's barely been five minutes."

"So? I know you've been in love since you first saw each other. Father's instinct!"

Arthur's face reddened as he wondered how much the man knew, but Francis smiled and took his hand. He leaned against him, sneaking a kiss onto Arthur's cheek. A giggle escaped him once he noticed how red Arthur's ears had gotten, and he touched them to feel their warmth. Arthur gave a sheepish smile before asking for a macaroon.

Romulus gladly handed him the entire box, welcoming him to the family.


	14. A/N: Send Requests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please don't skip this. It won't waste your time

I have four (incomplete) one-shots lined up right now and there are a few ideas floating about in my head. However, I'm afraid I may run out of ideas soon. Also, this is a great opportunity to involve you guys a lot more. I'm sure you all have amazing ideas. 

There isn't a specific format for requests. I'll add a preferable one here, but I won't reject your idea if you don't follow it. Each request should include 1 or 2 tropes, an AU, whether you want to be credited, and the prompt. 

[Trope], [AU]: [prompt]. [credit]. 

I believe fluff, angst, lime, and lemon are tropes (I wouldn't call them genres). You are allowed to combine them as long as it makes sense. For example, I always combine angst and fluff because I'm best at writing characters going through difficult times but I also like happy endings. If you do combine them, add a slash in between like "fluff/lime". 

Some lemon requests may be avoided if they make me uncomfortable or if they are too difficult to write. Lemon is the most difficult for me because it takes me a while to get in the right mood for it--and there is a fine line between "exciting" and "tasteless" when it comes to writing smut. 

All AUs are welcome. If too many people ask for a specific one like Soulmate AU (just an example), then I'll tell you guys that I won't be taking any more Soulmate AU requests in an author's note. 

Please tell me if you want to be credited. If you do not specify it and don't reply when I ask you, then I won't credit you for your idea. The reason for this is because some people may be uncomfortable with me tagging their name on a lemon, for example. I understand it can be embarrassing, so doing this will make it easier for everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've posted this on Wattpad as well and have already gotten quite a few requests.


	15. Green-Haired Menace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff. This features my own 3!p characterizations. Blair is 3!p France and Harley is 3!p England

Blue light emerged from the device in his hands, illuminating the man's face as he focused his burning eyes on the difficult video game. Blair had spent the last month trying to beat the final boss, but even with the help of various guides, he never came close. It was almost obsessive—the way he avoided anything that might distract him, from phone calls to going to the bathroom. That night he was sure he was going to finish the game. 

The robotic character on the screen growled weakly, its arms hanging by its side. It only had half a life left. All Blair had to do was hit the punch button once and the robot would be —

A thud came from his window, causing him to jump; he lifted his eyes from the device for a second, and in that one second the robot kicked his character straight in the face. The words "GAME OVER" flashed into Blair's eyes as he let out a sob. 

"You made me lose!" he yelled at the figure on the floor; the man's legs bending over his head in ways that shouldn't be possible. He was dressed in torn clothes, though Blair had a feeling that those were there on purpose. Harley always wore the weirdest things. Not to mention all the piercings, tattoos — and the  _ hair _ . It was so bright it could light up the whole room like a super-powerful glowstick. 

"Babe, I think I've got worse problems than you right now. I mean, I just fell out the window and cannot untangle my legs." 

Blair huffed and crawled out of his bed to help. He interrupted an upcoming apology for startling him by sitting on Harley's stomach, which caused the man to groan. "This is what you get for making me lose," he said, "I almost had it!" 

With a grin, Harley pushed him onto his back and leaned over him as Blair gasped. "You should exercise more," he teased, sneaking a hand under Blair's stained shirt. By the look of it, Harley guessed dinner was a combination of ketchup and something oily. Perhaps fries. 

"Why're you here?" Blair's face reddened as the hand rubbed his pudgy skin, scrunching his nose at the way it jiggled. 

Harley paused and rubbed his neck. "Ah, well. You see... I might've gotten in trouble with Raffaele." He shook his head as Blair's jaw dropped, begging him to listen. "I didn't know those were his drugs, okay? I thought some loser left them there, but it turns out — " 

"You messed with the mob?  _ Again?"  _ Pushing Harley off him, Blair's mind went insane, imagining all the things those ruthless mobsters would do to them. "What if they find you here? They'll kill me!" Harley took his hands and promised that they wouldn't, kissing him to seal the promise. 

"No one knows about you, Blair. I'm not _ that _ careless." He stroked Blair's blond hair, then stood up to close the curtains. "He won't find me as long as I don't go out the front door." Harley began to take his shirt off, showing off all of his tattoos. It was enough to make Blair drool. 

A laugh pulled him out of his thoughts. 

"How long has it been since last time?" Harley teased. "I can't believe you let that game stand between us for a month!" Pulling Blair into bed with him, Harley peppered his neck with kisses; hands groping him through his sweatpants, causing Blair to squeak like a mouse. 

"Harley, my mom is downstairs," Blair whined before another pair of lips met his, Harley's tongue pushing through seconds later. He kissed back for a while but pushed his boyfriend away once he felt Harley's fingers pull at the hem of his pants. "That's enough." 

"Don't you think you should move out? It's not good to live with your mom past 25." 

"I wanted to move in with you, but that's basically  _ suicide _ ," Blair complained. Maman was the best no matter what anyone else said. She loved cooking for him and Blair wasn't about to turn down food made by a real goddess. That woman had special powers. He was sure of it. Besides, she would never let him move in with Harley if she knew what he was getting into. 

"Aww, I'll try to get better. But not today because I'm not letting those drugs go to waste — "

"Harley!"

"Okay, okay! I'll have someone give them back... Can we still snog, though?" 

"Fine," Blair scoffed. Harley cheered and pressed their lips together; he continued to grope Blair's behind, causing the latter to roll his eyes.


	16. Tender Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff/Lemon. Requested by HistoreEternelle on Wattpad a long time ago.

"I want to try something new," Arthur whispered as he blindfolded his lover. He tied Francis's hands over his head, then kissed him and promised to be gentle—not that he'd ever considered hurting Francis on purpose after all they've been through. 

It had taken Arthur quite a while to come to terms with his feelings, having decided that harsh words and empty threats would help him get over Francis. However, the moment he realized Francis felt worthless—unwanted—because of the things he had said, Arthur couldn't fake it anymore. Francis's silent tears tore Arthur's heart in half; his mind played back all the cruel things he had said to him, regret accumulating in his chest as a form of punishment. That day Arthur promised to show nothing but love to Francis. 

Simple phrases like "thank you" and "I appreciate you" eventually led to hugs, then slowly turned into a loving kiss on their first date. The next step was to make love together. 

Arthur lifted Francis's shirt and rubbed from his chest down to his hips. Francis breathed slowly, shivering whenever Arthur's cold hands touched sensitive parts of his skin, causing him to get goosebumps. He felt gentle kisses travel down to his belly; chapped lips brushing against every inch of him. 

"I love you," mumbled Francis, wishing he could at least stroke Arthur's hair. He was about to speak again when a gasp interrupted—Arthur had nipped his thigh, sneaking in a few more in between kisses. 

Arthur smiled against Francis's leg. "I love you too, sweetheart," he said. 

The Frenchman's breath hitched once Arthur pulled his underwear down; his heart sped up as he nervously wondered what his lover planned to do with him. He felt Arthur kiss his tip and then down to the base. "Artie," he whispered, his limbs tensing as he was teased. 

He was shushed gently, Arthur's hands groping his behind and along his thighs. "Relax," said Arthur, "and focus on me."

Francis calmed down, yet still whined as Arthur refused to touch him properly. "Arthur, I need more than that," he begged. A moan escaped him once Arthur replaced kisses with a heavy tongue. 

"You sound beautiful, love. Don't hide your moans." 

It took him a while to get comfortable, but Francis allowed himself to moan whenever Arthur wrapped his mouth around his member, feeling every movement as if his body were full of electricity. It was tingly, fuzzy, and powerful all at the same time. 

He imagined himself on a cloud—a cloud full of static that worked as a fluffy cushion at first, caressing his skin with cotton-candy strands of sugar. Then it began to zap around his waist, making him tense up and moan. Both feelings were great, but he never imagined one could feel them at the same time. 

"Ready for something much more intense?" 

Francis held his breath.


	17. Sea Salt Fumes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lime

The cold eyes of a pirate scanned across the shore. Shining beneath the moonlight, the village was calm; only a drunk man with maidens under his arms stumbled by the shops as they searched for a private place. Arthur watched them enter an inn and told his first mate that he'd be staying there for the night.

He went in, then threatened the man behind the desk with his sword. "Don't let anyone know I'm here and I'll let you live." The man nodded desperately and gulped in relief once the pirate moved the blood-stained sword away from his throat. Arthur chuckled and stole a room key.

Once in his room, he searched the place for the thing his body craved the most—and there it was: a bathtub. He wasted no time in making himself at home, dipping his toes in before submerging his whole body in the heavenly water. Arthur hummed to himself as he felt calmer than ever.

Cleaner than ever, though his mind was still a cesspool. Recently, the only image in there was of Francis Bonnefoy, a well known pirate hunter. Arthur imagined the Frenchman's curves, recalling the way his hips moved after ever step; the way his shirt was always unbuttoned enough to tease him. He felt his lower half stiffen as he wished to break his nemesis in bed.

"Excited already?" purred an accented voice.

Arthur snapped out of his fantasy to glance at the door where Francis stood. "How'd you get in here?"

"I kindly asked that young man to open the door for me."

"I doubt you're capable of showing kindness."

Francis smiled. "Maybe not kindness, but I can show generosity," he said as he slowly unbuttoned the rest of his shirt. "I know you want me, Arthur." He stepped closer, pulling his pants down, and sitting at the edge of the bathtub.

Arthur caressed Francis's legs, nipping his thighs a few times to hear him whine. "Where is all of this coming from?" He pulled Francis in with him, hands touching every inch of his soft body.

Francis rubbed Arthur's chest, his lips ghosting over his jaw.

"You can't ignore it, Arthur. Our bodies ache for each other, no matter what our minds may think." Francis moaned softly once Arthur's pelvis met his, and wrapped his arms around the pirate's neck.

"My mind," Arthur began, "is completely fine with this."

He invaded Francis's mouth with his tongue, groaning as he tried to fight back. Arthur ground his hips against him, causing Francis to get distracted, which gave him enough time to gain control again.

"You bastard—nngh!" Francis whined as Arthur bit along his neck. He wrapped his legs around Arthur's waist, letting himself go.

Soft moans eventually increased enough volume to be heard from the lobby. Immense pleasure echoed against the walls, but to an inexperienced ear, it might've sounded like something else.

The man behind the counter shivered as he wondered what kind of torture the pirate was putting that blond guy through.


	18. That's Mega, Mate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff

A boy wearing a black band shirt tucked into washed out jeans stood by the New Releases section of the local Blockbuster. His eyes glanced over two DVD cases; the sizable price tags taunting him as he held a crunched up £10 note in his hand. Francis sighed, grabbing the spy movie full of death and unnecessary sex scenes instead of the G-rated kid's movie his heart throbbed for. _Only because I love him so much._

He felt someone approach him. Francis glanced over and smiled, watching the newcomer pretend to scan the shelf with his arms crossed.

"You're wearing my shirt," the boy with spiky hair and untamed eyebrows mumbled.

"I missed you."

"Yeah," Arthur said, "it sucked without you."

They kept their eyes on the DVD cases, tensing up every time someone walked past. Francis looked behind him before speaking up again: "I was gonna buy you this." He showed him the cover.

"Thank you, baby, but you don't have to waste your money on me," said Arthur, grabbing the movie Francis had been eyeing earlier. "You've been talking about this one for weeks. I'll get both of them."

"Wicked." Francis grinned.

"Look at you—quick learner, aren't ya?"

"You bet."

Arthur glanced behind him before giving Francis his keys and telling him to wait for him in his car. He waited for Francis to leave first, then walked up to the counter to pay for their movies, grabbing a candy bar on the way there.

"Bonnie Snapplebottom's Paris Adventure? What kinda prissy shit is this?" asked the cashier as he scrunched his swollen nose.

Grinning, Arthur gave a nonchalant shrug. "You know how she is, Ben. It's the only way I'll get laid."

"How _cute_." Benjamin grimaced. "When will I get to meet the lucky lady?"

"Can't say. She's quite the introvert."

" _Or_ she's a brace-face with fish breath and you're just too embarrassed to show her!"

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "You're calling me a liar?"

"Come on, mate—don't be tight," said Ben. "I have to meet her. She's the oldest fan of this Bonnie Apple-arse character, for sure. Someone that ridiculous can't be _that_ pretty."

"Don't you play with lightsabers? You're just as bad, Benjamin."

"Don't you _dare_ say that about Star Wars! Those movies are _masterpieces_."

"Whatever," said Arthur as he grabbed his belongings and left. He smiled when he saw Francis singing in the car, pretending the pen he left in the glovebox was a microphone. "I didn't know you were a well known pop star," Arthur said after opening the door. "You know how I feel about secrets, babe."

"Sorry, Artie." Francis smiled. "I wasn't supposed to tell anyone that I'm actually Madonna in disguise—" He mocked a gasp, covering his mouth. "Oops!"

Arthur shook his head and chuckled. "I can't believe I'm dating Madonna of all people."

Once they arrived at Arthur's place, he couldn't help but swallow an LSD pellet almost immediately. Francis frowned, but didn't try to stop him. The second thing Arthur did was kiss his boyfriend passionately, moaning as he shoved his tongue past the tender lips he missed while on holiday. He was interrupted, though; Francis pushed him aside, complaining about not wanting to spend the evening shagging.

"Why not, baby?"

Francis huffed and crossed his arms. "I haven't seen you in _days_ , Arthur! And the first thing you do is drug yourself? I want to spend time with you!"

"What's your deal? I'm here, aren't I?"

"That's not enough. I want to do things other couples do. Having sex every week doesn't cut it."

"Fine." Arthur sat on his beanbag chair. "C'mere." He wrapped his arms around Francis once the French boy leaned against him, kissing his forehead. "I got you a Snickers—because I love you," he said. "So don't get mad at me for wanting to touch you after spending a _week_ with my family."

"I'm sorry," Francis murmured, taking the candy bar out of the bag and staring at it. "I just get worried sometimes."

"Why?"

"I wish we could be like the other couples."

"Don't. Being different is great. They're just too stubborn to get it."

Francis frowned. "But I want to be able to kiss you in public! To look at you and tell you I love you without being afraid."

Arthur caressed his cheek and gave him a gentle kiss. "Someday, baby. Someday we'll be normal, but even if it takes years for that to happen, I'll never leave your side."

"You're so corny, Artie."

"Who do you think I get it from?"

"Oh, shut up." Francis wrapped his arms around his boyfriend and closed his eyes. "I love you, Arthur." He stroked his hair, breathing softly.

Arthur untucked Francis's shirt to rub his bare back. The latter sighed contentedly as Arthur spoke against his neck, "I love you, too."

They sat in silence for a while, before Arthur spoke up again. "Do the walls look closer to you?"

"Shut up, druggie, you're ruining the moment."

"Don't call me that."

"You're not the boss of me."

"Fucking twat."

Francis laughed and kissed him. "Who do you think I get it from?"

"That's _my_ line," grumbled Arthur. Despite his tone, he still leaned in for more kisses. "You're lucky I love you."

"I sure am."


	19. The Boy With Blue Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff. Requested by muashqq on Wattpad

The young boy watched his father sail—the wind blowing through his hair and obstructing his sight every once in a while. Arthur dressed in clothes similar to him: a red coat and a hat adorned with a feather. They were big on him, but he insisted on wearing his father's clothes every day, hoping that would make him into a captain sooner. Captain Kirkland always smiled and promised he'd grow up to be as great as him. 

Arthur watched the wheel with big green eyes, impatiently waiting for his turn to sail. That was when a crewmember yelled, "Rowboat!" Everyone looked over the starboard. "The boy's unconscious," another man said. Arthur ran over to see it for himself, gasping at the sight of a boy his age lying across the boat. From the distance, Arthur noticed he had long hair and worn-out clothes.

_I hope he's okay._

After a brief discussion, one of the crewmates tied a rope to the spar and swam towards the boat. The rest of them pulled it by the rope, carrying the boy onto the ship once he was close enough. Arthur tried to get a closer look, peeking through the men's legs, but the captain grabbed him by the arm and ordered him to run off. 

The unconscious boy was taken into the captain's cabin; Arthur followed the men, hiding behind walls and trying to keep silent. Once they were gone, he stepped into his father's room and stood before the boy. He reached out a hand to stroke the long hair, gasping at how soft it was—then, he felt the stranger's face, carefully brushing his fingers against the tender skin. Arthur closed his eyes and gave a silent prayer.

Something grabbed his wrist, and when he opened his eyes again, deep blue ones stared back at him. Arthur gazed into them as the hand holding him in place let go. 

It took him a while to remember how to speak again. "Who are you and why were you sleeping in the ocean?"

The boy stared at him. "I am Francis... I got lost." He frowned and his eyes filled up with tears as he clutched the sheets draped over him. "Where am I?"

"Don't be sad," Arthur said, wiping his tears away. "I'm a pirate. I can keep you safe until you find your home again." 

Francis smiled, taking Arthur's hand. "Thank you."

Arthur hugged him and promised to be his friend. 

He kept that promise for months, keeping Francis by his side as a friend—and after a few years went by, they became lovers. Francis forgot all about his family, claiming Arthur and the crewmates as his new family. After all, they cared about him more than any blood relative could.

Arthur expressed his love to him every night, recalling the story of the blue-eyed boy the ocean gifted him years ago. Then Francis would kiss his face, whispering, "Thank God for that. I cannot imagine a life without you."


	20. Childish Misunderstandings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff

Mr. Cinnabun watched me from the corner of his eye. I lay on my stomach, waiting for the right moment to pounce on him, but he sprinted past and hid behind my shoes. His nose stuck out, twitching nervously—meanwhile, I crawled closer and positioned my hands over him.

"Ah-ha!" I grabbed him, but he slipped right through. "Come back here!" His tail wiggled as he hopped into the forest, leaving me lying on the ground in defeat. "Stupid bunny... Mum's gonna kill me." After standing up and shaking the dirt off my clothes, I slipped my shoes on without socks because they were still covered in pond water. Yuck.

Kicking rocks along the way, I was headed towards the pond where Alistair waited for me. He said he was waiting for someone and didn't want me to bother him, but I don't care.

"Do you think we're ready? To date, I mean," an accented voice said.

_Francis? Why's he with Allie?_

I hid behind a bush, peeking out once in a while. They sat beside each other, their toes dipped in the pond as they chatted.

Alistair stretched his long arms and said, "Yeah, I think so. If you feel ready, then it's fine." My jaw dropped. Some part of me wished my ears were just messing with me, but deep down I knew what was going on. I mean, who wouldn't choose Allie? He's tall and muscular and he went to college for, like, two months! Meanwhile, I was a greasy _baby_ in primary school. No wonder Francis liked him more.

Still, I was furious.

Stomping over with my fists clenched by my sides, I yelled, "How _dare_ you!" They turned to look at me, fear in their eyes. _Yeah, you better be afraid_. My voice trembled as I continued: "I can't believe you chose him over me when we've been friends for _years_. And you didn't even tell me about it!"

Francis stood and took my hands. "Artie, you don't understand," he began, "I like _you_. Allie was only giving me relationship advice!"

"What?"

"I want to date you, Artie. I just didn't know if we were ready."

Glancing over at Alistair, I raised my eyebrows, asking if all of that was true. "Even if I tried to date him, I'd end up in jail," he said, looking amused.

"Heck yeah you would, you stealer," I said. "You'd be in jail for robbing me!"

Alistair chuckled and Francis looked me in the eyes. I felt his lips brush against my cheek, making it heat up.

"What was that for?"

"That was proof that I like you," he said, smiling brightly.

Sparks flew inside my chest, causing my skin to redden—especially my neck and ears. I completely forgot Alistair was there with us as I hugged Francis and told him I'd liked him ever since we met. He hugged back, resting his head on my shoulder. It made me feel like a grown-up. So I did what all grown-ups do and kissed his lips. Francis gasped, blushing as well.

A cackle interrupted our moment. I looked over Francis's shoulder and glared at Alistair, who was red, too, but from laughter. _Bastard_. Flipping him off, I continued to kiss the boy of my dreams.


	21. Red Faces and Pink Laces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff, Franny is melodramatic   
> Requested by yourordinaryweeb on Wattpad

The sound of metal against ice was more than familiar to him. Memories of trial and error ticking his mind as Arthur watched his lover twirl in the air and meet the ice once again with the grace of a butterfly, yet the accuracy of an eagle. Precision and charm were Francis’s strengths. Arthur fought against the swarm of winged insects every time he watched, afraid that his apple red face was as noticeable as he thought it was. 

Glittery, skin-tight outfits were all it took to make his face heat up. His eyes followed Francis’s toned arms and legs—sometimes glancing over his shapely hips, though Arthur often wished that olive arm around Francis would disappear.

He had nothing against Francis’s partner. A little jealousy never hurt anyone—at least not physically, which was Arthur’s main focus. Arthur never bothered learning the Spaniard’s name, figuring that a certain amount of distance would keep everybody safe from harm. Meaning that as much as Arthur wanted him to back off, Francis’s career depended on his partner—that left no room for arguments. 

Instead of pitying himself, Arthur tore his eyes from the Spaniard and allowed them to follow the footwork Francis had been practicing for the past few months. The lucky pink laces sparkled against the light, their glitter giving Francis’s white skates an iconic look. He strongly believed the laces Arthur bought him for Christmas 7 years ago were the source of his talent.

His performances often proved him right, even though Arthur didn't want to believe it. The wide smile on his face as he approached Arthur after the competition was enough to prove that the laces had done their magic that morning. “We won!” Francis said upon embracing him, then he sniffed the roses Arthur gave him. “See? I told you they'd work today.”

“You  _ did _ tell me, and now I feel like an  _ idiot _ for not believing you,” said Arthur—tone playful enough to mask his skepticism. 

Francis gave him an “I told you so” before leaning in for a kiss. “They might work on you, too. Wear them for the race!” 

“I don't know, love…” 

“Please,” he begged, puffing out his bottom lip for extra sympathy points. Of course, Arthur’s swarm of insects woke up from their brief slumber, giving him no choice but to agree. 

Less than two weeks later, Arthur raced against other skiers down a snowy hill; he wore the usual winter attire with a special accessory. The pink laces didn't, exactly, match his outfit, but it was far too late to worry about appearances. 

In the audience, Francis watched with his hands wrapped around each other, squeezing tightly and then relaxing to release the tension building up within him. He got like that every time Arthur raced, hoping for the best even though nothing ever went wrong. His paranoia came from those fail videos his friends always dared him to watch. Such bastards. 

Knots formed on his intestines, pushing that day’s breakfast way higher than it should've been—fortunately, a single gulp and whispered reassurances calmed his insides. However, Francis refused to watch any longer, his weak stomach threatening to give up soon. He studied the floor instead, finding interest in an abandoned toy whistle.

_ Everything's fine… just look at the whistle. It’s sad; a perfectly useful toy, now covered in germs, waiting for the child that dropped it to come back some day and save it from the gum-covered floor.  _

Francis raised an eyebrow and brought a hand to his face.  _ Am I an abandoned whistle on the floor?  _ He averted his gaze, now following Arthur with anxious eyes; it wasn't long before he glanced away again.  _ Please, God, _ he prayed with hands clasped together,  _ let the laces work on him… for he is all keeping me from becoming an abandoned whistle on the floor.  _

Soon after, he heard the crowd cheer as he lifted his head with a sense of relief. 

“Arthur,” he exclaimed, running up to him for a hug. “I thought you were gonna die out there!” 

“Die?” Arthur rolled his eyes. “Love, this is the Olympics. I've trained my whole life for this moment.” 

“Still, it's dangerous.” 

“Anyway… your laces didn't work on me.” 

Francis pulled back to look at him. “What are you talking about? Second place counts!” He rubbed his thumb over the silver medal around Arthur’s neck. _And_ _you'd be dead without them!_

“It’s not what I was going for.” 

“Well, if you don't like your prize, I can give you a better one at home. You, sir, are eating lots of cake tonight.” Francis sensually bit his lip, eyes half-lidded as they reflected pure want. 

When reporters caught up to them, Arthur told them his face was red from the cold. That didn't stop them from assuming things, of course. It never did. 

Nonetheless, Arthur concluded that the laces weren't useful for athletic purposes—but romance? That was their specialty.


	22. Summer Romance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluffangst  
> Requested by random_brick on Wattpad

Shoving folded clothes into dusty drawers, Arthur snarled at the wall, mind dwelling on his mother’s words from the night before. 

_ “I can't stand you for any longer,” Margot exclaimed. “Get off your arse and find a job, for heaven’s sake!” Her hands trembled as she poured herself another cup of tea, nearly spilling it on the carpet.  _

_ “Off my arse? Mother, I'm raising your children. Can't I have a break?” Arthur crosses his arms tightly. “What else do you want me to do?”  _

_ “Get a job, maybe!”  _

_ “I already have one!” _

_ “Then I’ll have to think of something else,” said Margot with a glisten in her eye.  _

_ Arthur shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “You can't hurt me anymore,” he declared, “I’ve grown a thick skin.” The sofa shook to the rhythm of Arthur’s leg as it jumped erratically; eyes burning from maintaining a fixated glare on Margot.  _

_ She found it humorous. “Don't get so riled up, Arthur. I'm merely asking you to find an honorable position—something that won't bring shame upon your family.”  _

_ “What's wrong with working at the cinema?” _

_ “Do you think an honorable lady would be proud of her son sitting on his arse all day, rolling a bloody tape? Who do you think I am?”  _

_ He lowered his gaze. “I apologize, Mother.” _

Wooden chest doors shut closed, the heavy sound echoing throughout the empty room. The only furniture being a mattress and a dresser. 

“How kind of you, Mother,” Arthur muttered, “to leave me with nothing at all—in a foreign country—for the sake of a lesson.” He searched his bag for the small amount of money he had left after paying the trip to France on his own.  _ As if _ he wanted it in the first place. Work wouldn't start for another two days, unfortunately, so that was all he had in the meantime. 

“She can go back to hell,” said Arthur, and after a moment of thought, he stuck the coins into his pocket. 

The market was full of gorgeous meat and vegetables that made Arthur drool. He approached a stand covered in corn, carrots, and all; the smell of fresh food causing his stomach to twist in need. 

“Excusez-moi?” 

Arthur lifted his gaze and met a blond boy, who looked about his age, leaning over the stand. Blue eyes sparkled playfully; lips tilted in a smirk, teasing Arthur with their charm. 

With a gulp, Arthur spoke up, “Sorry, I don't speak French.” 

“That is fine,” purred the boy. “Can I help you?”

“Huh?”

“You don't want food?”

“Oh!” Arthur slapped his forehead, finally waking up from his daydream. “Yes, I would like some.” As Arthur made his order, the boy watched him from the corner of his eye. The way he'd bite his lip made Arthur's ears turn red. 

“Can I…” Arthur hesitated, “take you out on a date sometime?”

“But, you don't know my name.”

“Uh, can I take you out after you tell me your name?” 

He laughed beautifully, tucking a strand ofp hair behind his ear. “I'm Francis, and I’d love that.”

They fell in love after a few dates, promising to spend their lives together until the end of time. For two months, Francis snuck out of bed to meet at Arthur’s place. He read books to him, since Arthur constantly talked about his accent, calling it the “most beautiful” he'd ever heard. In return, Arthur held him and ran his fingers through Francis’s hair. 

Francis couldn't get enough affection. 

One day, they met up in the corn field behind Francis’s house, and out of sexual frustration, he pulled Arthur in for a passionate kiss. Arthur wrapped his arms around his waist, deepening the kiss. He shoved his tongue in, making Francis moan softly. 

When Arthur shifted to kiss his neck, Francis caught sight of his neighbor’s eyes staring right at him through the leaves. She glared at him, the wrinkles on her cheeks covered in dirt from gardening all morning. Francis gasped, pulling Arthur inside the house. 

“Someone saw us!”

Arthur assured him it was fine and not to worry, but the day he showed up at his door with a letter from England, Francis already knew the reason. 

“Someone told my boss about us… he fired me. I have to go back home.” 

Francis burst into tears. “I'm so sorry! We should've gone to your apartment but I was so  _ frustrated _ and—”

“Francis, my love, this is  _ not _ your fault.” Arthur cupped his face and kissed him gently. “I promise I’ll come back. Then we’ll spend our lives together until the end of time.” 

But he never did. Months came and went, leaving Francis feeling emptier after each one. He'd doubt himself, asking: “Was I enough? Didn't he love me as much as I loved him?” 

No letter he sent received a reply. After the 100th letter, Francis gave up. Two years later, he moved to London with his sister Mirabella. From then on, he lived a happier life as an apprentice. Mirabella was a famous designer and Francis planned to work with her. They went to balls together, living without a care in the world. 

That didn't mean Francis wasn't lonely. 

He discussed his career plans with an investor when a cold hand took his arm and dragged him into a private room. 

“What do you think you're—” He turned and his glare faltered; tears covered his face in a matter of seconds. Arthur cupped his face and uttered an apology. 

“No,” Francis said, “I don't forgive you. Do you know how I've felt? I spent  _ two years _ waiting for you, and now that I’m  _ finally happy _ , you decide to come back?” 

“Francis. I was a child kept under my mother’s wing. She found out about us and  _ beat _ me every time I got a letter from you. I couldn't go anywhere.” 

“I'm sorry.” Francis sobbed loudly. “I just thought… that you didn't love me. I’m so sorry!” 

“No, my love.” Arthur kissed his forehead. “I still love you. That's why I came here.” He wiped Francis’s tears away, embracing him. “My mother can't control me anymore.” 

“But, I'm not the same person I was two years ago. I'm not a farm boy anymore.” 

Arthur smiled. “I didn't fall in love with a farm boy. I fell in love with a man named Francis—” He kissed him gently. “—whom I'm planning to spend the rest of my life with.” 

“Until the end of time?” 

“Until then.”


	23. To Love a Dead Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst. The title should be a clear warning

Light chatter surrounded them—a lit candle illuminating their faces as the pair gazed at each other. They ate slowly, communicating with half-lidded eyes and muffled giggles: legs brushing against each other under the table.

But something was off. Francis darted his eyes from his lap to his plate, and then brought them up again to shoot Arthur a flirty gaze. He twiddled his thumbs, frowning to himself as he seemed to be lost in his thoughts before reminding himself where he was. Then another flirty gaze.

“Are you alright, dear,” asked Arthur, worry laced in his words. He rubbed a thumb over his date’s hand. “You seem distracted tonight.”

“Yes,” Francis said, flashing a smile, “I'm just worried about work. Things have gotten stressful these past days.”

Arthur nodded, holding Francis’s hand. “Want to tell me about it?”

“No, I don't want to ruin our moment.”

“Okay, love.”

Francis bounced his leg as he slipped back into his thoughts. 

_ “What's your status?” the burly man asked, flipping through Francis’s file. He'd glance up after scanning each page with his permanent glare.  _

_ “We’re going on a date tomorrow. I'd say he trusts me enough to take me home for the night.” Francis kept a neutral expression as he crossed his legs and rested folded hands on his knee.  _

_ The man hummed, then shook his head at the file. “We can't keep him around for any longer, understand?”  _

_ Francis nodded and looked down at his fingers.  _

_ “Forget the old mission,” the man said. “Here’s what you'll do.” He grabbed a pen and scribbled down new instructions on a piece of paper, grumbling about corrupt business owners under his breath. _

_ The implication made Francis shift in his seat. “I don't have to spy on him anymore?” he asked in a hopeful tone. _

_ A rumbly laugh erupted in the back of the man’s throat. “If everything goes well, yes. But it all depends on you.” _

With his arm around the Frenchman’s waist, Arthur led him to the entrance of his mansion. “I know we can't do much since we just ate dinner, but will you, at least, let me touch you a little?” 

“I want nothing more,” purred Francis. He clutched the strap of his satchel, holding in his breath as Arthur walked him through the gigantic house until they arrived at his room. 

“How did you pay for all of this?”

“Oh, Francis. I would be nothing without my company.”

_ That's not true _ , thought Francis as he sat on the bed with his satchel safe on his lap. “Do you have any servants?”

“Yes, but don't worry about them. I told them to go home early.” Arthur smiled suggestively, rubbing his hands over Francis’s arms. 

“Wait.” Francis took his hands and stared into his eyes. “Arthur, I love you. I know it's too soon, but I truly do!” His eyes watered as he pulled Arthur in for a kiss. Arthur kissed back passionately until they had to pull back for air.

“I love you, too, dear.” He wiped Francis's tears. “Don't worry.”

“No, you don't understand—” 

“But, I do. I love you. And I constantly dream about creating a family with you. So,  _ seriously _ , you shouldn't worry.” 

“Arthur.” Francis sobbed, shoving his hand into the satchel. “I can't do that. You were set up, Arthur.” He took out a pistol. 

“Francis?”

“I'm so sorry.” He pointed it at Arthur’s chest. “I love you…” 

“Francis, look at me,” Arthur begged. “You can't do this.” He stood, walking backwards until his head met the door. “You… you can't…” 

“People,” Francis choked out, “will die if I don't do this.  _ Innocent _ people. Your employees—their  _ families _ , Arthur! I have to!” 

Arthur stared at him, his eyes no longer a shimmering green color. They were muddied with anger, disbelief—heart-break. He clenched his jaw, staring down at the trembling man he grew to love. 

“Fine,” he said. “I won't fight back.”

Francis sobbed into his arm until he gulped and stood in front of him. Lifting the gun up to point at Arthur’s chest, he began to sob again.

Arthur grabbed his chin and pulled him into a gentle kiss, only stopping to say: “Relax. It'll be over in just a minute.” Then, he cupped Francis’s face with both hands as he kissed him tenderly.

With the gun firmly pressed against Arthur’s chest, Francis pulled the trigger. A sharp sound echoed in his head as the man in front of him collapsed to his feet. 

He wouldn't dare to look down, eyes filling with more tears while he stared at the bloodied door. 


End file.
